


Unnoticed.

by imzadinot



Category: Carry On - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: How Do I Tag, I don't really know - Freeform, M/M, Oblivious Simon, One Shot, Post-Canon Fix-It, SnowBaz, Three Years Later, he doesn't notice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 15:57:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,048
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7580668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imzadinot/pseuds/imzadinot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Baz seemed to stiffen as though he’d been electrocuted, staring at Simon as an oh so familiar burning green smell began to fill the air. </p><p>(Or, Simon's magic returns.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Unnoticed.

**Author's Note:**

> This is an idea I've had for about a month now and finally managed to write. I read Carry On a few months ago and I've been obsessed with Simon and Baz ever since and there are tons of stories I want to write about them. This was originally called Simon Snow and The Return Of His Magic, but there are already fics out there titled the same...

He didn’t notice at first. No one did. Not Penny, not Baz, not even Simon himself noticed. 

He’d wake up in the middle of the night, panting, having dreamt about going off. That wasn’t anything new. 

He’d gotten used to waking up and knowing that it wasn’t real, that his magic wasn’t burning through him, rising up through his skin, he’d gotten so used to it all that he’d stopped having to think about it. Simon had stopped wondering if it was real and stopped noticing that his skin didn’t shimmer and his breath didn’t burn, that he didn’t notice when it did. 

He’d woken up panting, fresh from a dream so vivid it felt like it was real, and had turned to the boy laying next to him, relaxing and laying back next to Baz, telling himself it was fake like always. The smell of smoke lingered, but his nightmare had been so real that his still sleepy mind had assumed the smoke was part of it. And he’d dreamed of his magic so often that the feeling of it, still there when he’d woken up, went unthought about, filed away as a simple reminder of his too vivid dream. 

It had gone unnoticed, the return of Simon’s magic. 

He’d long since stopped trying to cast spells—it had hurt too much, when nothing happened. And the dream was nothing new, really. He’d practically forgotten about it, the next time he woke up, pressed into Baz’s side. 

And it wasn’t like they talked about his magic, or lack of. The only time his magic was brought up was when Simon chose it—usually speaking to his therapist, or when he and Professor Bunce were talking about the dead spots. And even then, they tended to avoid the subject of how the dead spots were caused. 

Everyone had grown so used to Simon not having his magic—in the three or so years since he’d lost it—that they had all adapted. Penny would spell his wings and tail invisible every morning whilst he made tea, and Baz could recognise his scent, his new scent, anywhere. Everyone, even Simon, had eventually adapted, and his magic seemed like a memory, all too real at times, yet at the same time, completely unreal. 

There was only ever one moment, one brief moment, weeks after he’d woken up able to smell smoke, when Simon thought he had it back. Professor Bunce and his team had taken him on a survey trip to a dead spot and for a brief second, after they’d left, he’d thought he’d felt that familiar rise in the pit of his stomach. 

The feeling had gone again by the time he was sat in Professor Bunce’s study, sat at one of the tall desks with Penny, watching as her dad chartered the latest measurements of the hole he’d created over the Isle of Skye. It had been brief, the feeling. A fleeting moment of feeling like his old self that was over so quickly that Simon wasn’t even sure that he’d really felt it. He’d quickly cast any hope aside, forgetting about it as he watched the professor write up the data before dropping his pen and double checking his calculations, double checking that he was right and the dead spot over the Isle of Skye was smaller. 

It had shrunk in size. The dead spot over Newcastle was smaller as well. The holes created over the coast had shrunk. All of them were shrinking. Even the dead spot over Hampshire. Some faster than others, granted, but they were still shrinking. The magickal atmosphere was recovering. Years sooner than anticipated. 

Penny’s dad had been delighted and Simon and Penny had shared a look, more of a grimace than a smile, before she **‘These are not the droids you’re looking for’** ’d Simon’s left wing invisible again.

He still remembered that night with the mage and the humdrum and giving up his magic far too well to have hope, really.

Dreams were just dreams and that feeling, that feeling was just wishful thinking, an illusion created by his desire to be a part of the collective relief everyone always felt after leaving a dead spot. Dreams were dreams, and any feelings he might’ve thought he’d had were just illusions. 

Until they maybe weren’t.

Again, the return of his magic went unnoticed. 

Simon slept in later than normal one morning, celebrating the end of his exams, but he was still awake before Baz and he still made tea for Penny while she revised for her final exam. He’d tried not to think about his wings, thought about them being invisible, ignoring the weight of them as he always did, pretending that he couldn’t see them. He was so used to Penny spelling him tidy that he didn’t think about how she’d rushed off earlier than usual. His wings weren’t noticeable and Baz didn’t say anything about them when he finally surfaced and Simon didn’t either. 

Not until Penny came rushing in after her exam, dropping her things in the hallway and rushing through to the living room where he and Baz were sat together, the TV playing in the background. She’d run through, spouting apologies, her hand raised and about to spell Simon’s wings into submission when she stopped mid sentence and gasped before turning to Baz. “Did you…did you **There’s nothing to see here** him this morning?” 

It was only then, after Baz had shaken his head, giving Penny an odd look, that it dawned to him too. “Bunce…if you didn’t…and I haven’t…Simon?”

It was then, when Simon began to think about his wings, no longer ignoring them and assuming they were invisible, that they became visible again. They then became invisible once more, as Simon thought about them being unnoticeable, willing them to go unseen. This time, the more Simon concentrated, his own mind already heading down the same track as both Penny and Baz, as he made his wings appear and both disappear, becoming invisible again, he noticed the feeling of his magic rising up his spine. 

Baz seemed to stiffen as though he’d been electrocuted, staring at Simon as an oh so familiar burning green smell began to fill the air.

**Author's Note:**

> So…my theory behind this is that Simon Snow was always meant to have magic - his parents, Lucy and the mage, were both magickal, and he would have had inherited magic from them regardless, only a normal amount. If the magickal atmmosphere were to recover and magic to return to those places, then why couldn’t it return to simon? Maybe not in the uncontrollable way he had it before, but more restrainable. He’d still be pretty powerful - look at his parents - but it would be managable, the magickal atmosphere would be able to compensate for simon and as the deadspots shrank, his magic would return. ( I have to say that I thought of this at half past three one morning so it might not make sense to anyone but me.)
> 
> Anyway...I'd love to know what you think....


End file.
